Nothing Scarier
by mebbesumday
Summary: As anticipated, the first time John Watson's daughter was formally introduced to his best friend, it was a complete disaster.


As anticipated, the first time John Watson's daughter was formally introduced to his best friend, it was a complete disaster.

"Annie! Annie, it's all right!" The doctor shouted as his five-year-old daughter barreled up the stairs in a fit of hysteria. "It's all...!"

He turned to glare at a straight-faced Sherlock Holmes, who raised his eyebrows in response.

"You break into my house in broad daylight," John tapped his index fingers together, and, in a dangerous whisper, started listing off his offenses. "When you could have easily called."

"Yes?" Sherlock wasn't sure that he liked where this was going.

"You stand in my living room, covered in pig's blood and carrying a harpoon," John got visibly redder and he barked out a mirthless laugh. "Again!"

"Yes..." Sherlock was now definitely sure that he didn't like where this was going, but he couldn't stop himself. "But to be fair, it was goat this time."

"And after I introduce you to Annie as her godfather, you tell her that you prefer to be called a consulting detective!" John started yelling.

Sherlock could only wince this time.

"And _then_," John lets out a shaky breath and brandishes a finger at his friend. "And _then_ when my daughter _joyfully_ asks you to please find her lost _puppy_ you list _four_ out of five _terrible_ things that you think could have happened to him before I could shut you up!"

"Yes, four, but -"

"_OUT!_" John pointed to the front door.

Sherlock frowned, unhappy at being cut off, and stalked out the door in a temper.

John pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, knowing that the man would probably be back in a half hour with something clever to say to make sure that he was forgiven. After locking the door, he ventured upstairs to comfort his daughter.

* * *

"Daddy, please get me another godfather," Annie wrapped her arms around his knees the second he entered her bedroom. "That man is scarier than anyone I've ever met."

Dr. Watson was about to open his mouth to argue, but cocked his head to the side in consideration. An overly-intelligent sociopath who ran experiments in the kitchen and had the temperament of a child. No, she was right.

"Yes, Sherlock, is _probably_ the scariest man in the world," John started, but picked his daughter up when she looked like she was about to start bawling again. "But that's a good thing, because there are some people out there that are nearly as scary as him. But not quite."

"Like who, Daddy?" Annie looked at him with those big brown eyes of hers and he knew it was story time.

He recounted their adventures together.

The time Sherlock took down a Chinese smuggling ring in the dark.

The time Sherlock and Daddy mutually saved each other from being blown to bits. (He'd censored that a bit.)

The time her godfather dropped a man out of a window - several times - for threatening Misses-Auntie Hudson.

When the consulting detective had run a terrifying experiment on him in a government lab for the greater good.

The mood his flat mate had been in when he put photos of him online in that bloody _wonderful_ deerstalker. (Because John Watson's daughter deserved to know what a git Sherlock Holmes was on his "regular" days as well.)

How Daddy's best friend managed to become a ghost for nearly two years to protect all the people he loved from harm while terrorizing the people that threatened them. (And how good it felt to clock him in the jaw the second he made his formal re-entry into the world of the living. Because Annie should know her father could put even the _scariest_ man in the world in his place if necessary.)

John could have gone on and on, but he was interrupted with a question.

"But Daddy, how does any of that matter if he's still so _scary_?"

He thought about the best way to articulate this to his child.

"Because he's a scary person on _our_ side," John smiled, but he could see that Annie still wasn't convinced.

Then he thought about the time he'd nearly shot Sherlock when he was making an awful racket installing safety devices outside Annie's window at three in the morning. They'd gotten into a huge row until Sherlock had started yelling about how _she_ wasn't old enough to hold a gun yet, so _obviously_ there had to be some deterrent from someone kidnapping his best friend's child, because what if it hadn't been the world's only consulting detective making the racket? John had finally let it go then, just asking that he _please_, for the love of all that was good, _call_ next time.

"And even though he doesn't like to be very nice about it, he loves you very, very much," John rolled his eyes and laughed as he looked at the ridiculous number of alarms and steel bars attached to the window.

Then, since it was thirty minutes on the dot, a slightly muddy Sherlock walked into Annie's room - John was _sure_ that he'd locked up - holding a sleepy basset hound puppy in his arms.

"Lestrade!" Annie yelped with happiness and Sherlock raised his eyebrows as if to say _really_? John could only shrug. "Thank you, oh, thank you!"

As Sherlock placed the puppy on the ground so it could scamper off, Annie squeezed him tight around the middle and placed a light kiss on his cheek before running off after her dog. John grinned as Sherlock touched the spot on his face and tried to look displeased.

"I liked it better when she was scared of me."

"Of course," John walked past him and out to the living room.

"You didn't let me finish telling her where _Lestrade_," Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed, "was off at. I had five ideas, not four."

"Mm-hm," John poured two cups of tea and got out the milk.

"That was completely your fault," Sherlock grabbed the milk right out of John's hand to serve himself first.

"Right," John quipped as he snatched it back.

With that, the equilibrium of their friendship was restored. They spent the next two hours idly chatting about how Mary was doing, why Scotland Yard needed John back in London, and the little bit of weight that Molly had been gaining lately. Mary Watson returned home from a late shift to find her husband and his best friend laughing raucously on the couch over a glass ashtray they'd rediscovered behind a stack of books and a very tired daughter sleeping soundly next to them.

Sherlock got up to greet the only one of John's girlfriends he's ever approved of. In turn, John stuffed a biscuit in the man's mouth. For precautionary measures.

The dark-haired man gave Dr. Watson a withering look and swallowed the biscuit.

"It's lovely to see you again Mary. Have you done something with your hair?" Sherlock took Mary's hand and placed a chaste kiss on it while she shook her head and scoffed. "The gray isn't showing this time."

John doubled over laughing as his wife flicked his best friend in the nose.

Sherlock Holmes. Normal godfather. Normal best friend.

Perish the thought.

There was _nothing_ scarier than that.

* * *

_Author's Note: It is with the heaviest of hearts that I inform you that I am not the creative owner of BBC's Sherlock, nor am I one of Baker Street's residents myself. However, I do hope that you enjoyed Nothing Scarier. If y'all notice any inconsistencies or have any suggestions, feel free to point them out._

_I can hear my sibling cackling. I've finally joined a fandom where real people are on the screen._

_But, I've done a terrible thing and lost track of where another one of my stories was going. Gah. But I'd like to do more Sherlock stuff. The Children of Baker Street universe or something. Is that real, or did I make that up? Is that allowed?_

_Best,_

_MebbeSumday _


End file.
